The lives and poetry of four toddler turtles
by candelight
Summary: Turtle Tot fiction! The turtles decide to have their own minature poetry slam. With zombies, demented cats, and lemon meringue making the scene, this can only end in fire....


The Lives and Poetry of Four Toddler Turtles

Turtle Tot fiction! The turtles decide to have their own minature poetry slam. With zombies, demented cats, and pudding making the scene, this can only end in fire....

Dedicated to Mary, Rhoda, Meagan, Anna, and Katie. Thanks a lot, you guys.

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"So THAT'S a haiku, Mas'er Splinter?"

The rat slowly nodded, still absorbed in his novel.

"Yes, my son. It works into a type of beat, if you would. Five-and-Seven syllables in a beating pattern; a rhythm, if you would." Splinter cleared his throat.

_"The first cold shower_

_Even the monkey seems to _

_Want a little coat of straw."_

Raph blinked.

"Doesn't sound much like a poem, Master."

Splinter smiled, and placed a hand on Raph's head.

"I know it must not SEEM like much.....but the short, simple words of a haiku can bring lasting impact."

"Really?"

The rat nodded. Raph's eyes lit up.

"Cool! Thanks, Master!"

Grabbing a stray crayon and sheet of paper on the floor, Raph scurried off.

Splinter smiled, then turned his eyes to his book again.

Maybe NOW he could read.

* * *

Raph burst into the nusery, triumphantly holding up his sheet of paper. Leo looked up in surprise from his own poem.

"Did Sensei say how to-?"

"Yep! I got it right here!" Raph cleared his throat, and read:

"Five syllables here.

And now you got seven more.

And now five. Happy?"

Raph looked proudly at the others, slightly breathless.

"Well? Whattya think?"

Mikey giggled. Raph shot a scowl at him.

"Oh.....so you think YOURS is better?"

The youngest by four minutes turtle chuckled.

"Uh....YEAH. And, it's longer!"

Mikey grabbed his sheet of paper next.

"_Stinko, the Zombie,_

_Was a corpse without a soul,_

_With a single tooth hanging by the root,_

_And two eyes made out of toes,_

_Down through the village,_

_With his kidneys in his hands,_

_Children smelled decay as they laughed_

_And played Dodgeball with his.......um._

_There must have been some magic_

_In a corpse that skips and jogs,_

_But the kids knew they made a mistake-_

_When they fed him to the dogs!_

_Stinko, the Zombie,_

_Was a worthless pile of flesh._

_But he said goodbye, and for a fun dead guy,_

_You will always be John Te-"_

Don started to laugh.

"Hello? That's crazy, Mikey! Poetry is a SKILL-not just some rambled wordplay! Sort of like Edgar Allen Poe."

Mikey blinked.

"Edgar who now?"

Don just laughed.

"Well....here's MINE."

**"On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting,**  
**I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.**  
**Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,**  
**Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door.**  
**"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor,**  
**"There is nothing I like more."**  
**Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed**  
**Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore.**  
**While the bard and birdie chattered, I made sure that nothing clattered,**  
**Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered, as I crossed the corridor;**  
**For his house is crammed with trinkets, curious and weird decor -**  
**Bric-a-brac and junk galore.**  
**Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered,**  
**In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents worth -**  
**"Nevermore."**  
**While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up,**  
**Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feather bore.**  
**Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -**  
**Only this and not much more.**  
**Then my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat, it's time I dried out!"**  
**Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before;**  
**How I've wallowed in self-pity, while my gallant, valiant kitty.**  
**Put an end to that darn ditty - then I heard him start to snore.**  
**Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,**  
**Jumped - and smashed it on the floor."**

Don looked up, eyes sparkling.

"Well?"

Leo's eyes widened.

"T-That was v-very nice, Donny...."

"But scary! I didn't understand halfa WORD in that thing....and the cat ate a bird! What's so great about that?"

Don flushed.

"Well.....I....Leo, read yours!"

The Leader blushed, but picked up his paper.

"There once were three turtles in a fight.

About who had the better ability to write.

Their brother got sick of their shrill harangue,

And covered them up with lemon meringue!"

______

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Splinter sighed as he opened the door.

Four turtles were struggling on the floor.

He went to separate them from the whole wild rodeo,

And thoughts of a quiet day reading went out the window.


End file.
